


Friendly Fire

by der_tanzer



Series: Between Carson and King Harbor [9]
Category: Emergency!, Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chet and Johnny have a few things to work out. A house fire might not be the best place to start, but they work with what they’re given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Fire

“Hey, Lopez, Kelly, get an inch and a half in there,” Cap yelled. That was the last thing he said before everything went to hell. Chet and Marco dragged the hose into the house, from which Roy and Johnny had already carried a woman and her elderly father. The woman had a very minor burn, but the old man was in bad shape and Roy was hard at work trying to regulate his breathing.

When Cap called for Johnny, there was a very brief moment when he considered not responding. The old man was still touch and go and Roy needed his help. But Cap yelled again and it sounded urgent. Johnny got up and put his helmet back on.

“Grab your air tank and get back in there,” Cap said, sounding pissed. “Lopez is calling for help. Kelly’s trapped on the second floor.”

“Can Lopez back me? Is he on his feet?”

“Sounds like it. Top of the stairs, left of the landing.”

“You got it.” Johnny slung the tank on his back, put on his mask, and re-strapped his helmet. Cap handed him an axe and he went inside.

The spindles of the carved banister were gone but the staircase held. Johnny located the men in a bedroom off the landing. His flashlight cut through the thickening haze of smoke to illuminate the two of them huddled on the floor, Marco shielding Chet’s body from falling debris. A heavy armoire had fallen and was pinning his lower body, so Johnny traded places with Marco, examining Chet while Lopez broke up enough of the armoire to free him.

Johnny had his hand to Chet’s throat, feeling for his pulse, when he suddenly spoke.

“Guys? Am I getting out of here?”

“In just a minute,” Johnny said. “Can you breathe okay?”

“Gage?”

“Can you breathe? How’s your air?”

“I’ve got air,” he said, sounding almost angry.

“Are you hurt? If we get you up, can you walk?”

“I can walk.”

But he couldn’t. Marco pulled off the bulk of the armoire, now a mass of kindling for the fire that was already creeping in on them, and Johnny tried to stand Chet on his feet. He wobbled and Johnny caught him, dipped down a little and came back up hefting Chet on his shoulder. Marco led the way down the crumbling stairs as the roof collapsed onto the second floor. By the time they were laying him down next to the squad, most of the interior was gone.

Johnny stripped off Chet’s helmet and mask, then sat back on his heels to take off his own turnout coat, freeing himself to work. He saw Chet looking him, a strangely watchful expression on his face, but chalked it up to fear over whatever injury he had. That expression only got stranger when Johnny began unfastening Chet’s coat. He asked if Chet had any back or neck pain, and accepted his shake of the head in answer before sitting him up and easing him out of his coat. He spread it on the concrete and laid Chet down back on it.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, running his hands over Kelly’s thigh where his pants were torn and bleeding skin showed through.

“Where’s Roy?”

“Looks like he’s gone. He must’ve taken the old man to the hospital already.” Johnny strapped the BP cuff around his arm and inflated it briskly.

“Get off me,” Chet muttered groggily. Johnny cocked his head in surprise. But the pressure reading he got seemed to explain it.

“Cap, I think he’s bleeding internally. I’m gonna need some help.”

The captain called for a second company and another ambulance while Lopez got on the radio to dispatch to contact the hospital. Johnny unbuttoned Chet’s shirt, gently palpating his abdomen for signs of pressure or pain. He was aware of the icy gaze upon him, but didn’t fully understand.

“Does that hurt, Chet? Talk to me.”

“Get off,” he repeated and closed his eyes. His chest fell and didn’t rise again.

“Oh, hell. Marco, get me the oxygen.” He grabbed the radio and reported that the patient had stopped breathing. He started CPR while waiting for Marco to return, and when Chet opened his eyes again, it was to his worst nightmare. He brought one arm up and tried to shove Johnny away. Johnny grabbed his wrist and forced it down, surprised at how easy it was.

“Stop that. You want to die, Chet?” He strapped an oxygen mask on him before he could answer and checked his pulse again. Chet struggled weakly, trying to wrench his arm free of the restraining hand.

“Stop it,” he snapped, keeping his voice low. The last thing he wanted to do was make this public. “You’re hurt, Chester. For real. Did you know that? I can save you, but you don’t have a lot of time to decide if you want to live.”

The bright blue eyes widened in fear and Johnny knew he’d won. It was his least favorite type of victory, but it would do.

“All right then. I’m gonna take care of you, but you have to trust me.”

He nodded, eyes still wide, and Johnny knew he was starting to feel the pain.

“Cap, there’s not much I can do here. Roy took the drug box and I can’t even start an IV. If the other squad’s more than five minutes out, I think we’d better just go.”

“Their last ETA was ten minutes. That was about two minutes ago.” 

“All right. Let’s get him into the trauma suit and if they’re not here by the time he’s ready we’ll go.”

Chet rebelled when Johnny touched his feet, trying to kick when he felt his uniform shoes being untied. He hadn’t even had his turnout pants and boots to protect him. His brain was already feeling the decreased blood-flow and he couldn’t think reasonably about what was happening. If he could, he might have remembered the dozens of times he’d helped envelop bleeding patients in the thick inflatable suit. He might have remembered that they always removed their shoes for a better fit. As it was, he didn’t think of those things. He thought only of his helplessness and the unwelcome hands on his body.

“Hey, Kelly, calm down,” Cap said, and he took comfort from that voice, half impatient and half ironic but wholly in command. The captain’s hands on his shoulders didn’t frighten him and he let himself relax.

“What happened?” Johnny asked, looking up when his patient went still. “Is he conscious?”

“Not really, but he’s breathing. There’s your ambulance, but we got no squad. What do you want to do?”

“I guess we need to go. But, Cap—if this goes bad on us, you know I did my best, right?”

“Hell yes, I know that. Don’t be stupid.” He waved the ambulance attendants over and helped lift Chet onto the gurney. Johnny tucked the oxygen bottle in beside him, tightened the straps, and told the driver they had to make time.

Captain Stanley watched them go, wishing Johnny hadn’t put that thought into his head. But it was there and it was a valid concern. If the crew’s resident homophobe died under the sole care of their resident gay paramedic, questions would be asked. He didn’t try to kid himself that just because there hadn’t been any talk so far, there never would be. And nothing inflamed gossip like a dead man who maybe ought not be. Cap said an extra prayer that Chet Kelly would survive, for Johnny’s sake as well as his own.

In the ambulance all Johnny could do was sit and watch his old comrade, a man he had long considered a friend, struggle to breathe. They hadn’t exchanged more than casual pleasantries, all of them just for show, since the day Chet outed him to the captain. Johnny was still angry about that—it was a low blow to start with, and came at the worst possible time—but he wanted Chet to apologize. He wanted the chance to forgive him and go back to the way things used to be. Every day, he hoped something would break the ice and allow them to repair their friendship before one of them died on the job. And no matter what the official report said, no matter how hard the captain lobbied for him, Johnny was sure that losing Chet now would end his career.

***

Late that afternoon Johnny went back to the hospital to ask how Chet was doing. He’d had a rather lengthy surgery and was in recovery, waiting for a room. Dixie said he was awake but groggy and in some pain. No one else had come to see him and she didn’t ask Johnny if he wanted to. Roy had filled her in on the rupture last year during Murray’s coma, when Johnny was haunting the hospital. She was the only one outside their crew to have the whole story, but Johnny knew his secrets were safe.

“Think he’d let me say hello?”

“I’m surprised you want to,” she said, arching one sculpted eyebrow.

“Yeah, well…I kind of am, too. But I’d like to see for myself that he’s okay.”

“Sure. You know the way. He’s in room six.”

“Thanks.” He hugged her impulsively with one arm, something few men dared to do, and headed for the elevator.

The nurse in recovery made him wait while she looked to see if Chet was awake. She came back and told him he could have five minutes, which Johnny estimated to be roughly four and a half more than he needed. But he flashed his trademark grin and went inside. He was still grinning when Chet looked up at him and there was something in his expression that Johnny had never seen there before.

“Hey, buddy. How’re you feeling?” he asked carefully, not sitting down.

“They said you saved my life.”

“I didn’t do much. Roy took the drug box so I couldn’t really treat you. I just carried you out of the house and, you know, brought you back from the dead.”

“I remember that part. Johnny…” He paused and breathed for a few seconds, feeling a nasty stab in his chest.

“Look, I’m sorry, Chet. I know you didn’t want me touching you, but I didn’t have a choice. Roy was gone and—well, they told you the truth. You were dying. I didn’t do a _lot_ , but I saved your life.”

“I know,” he sighed. Chet was tired and he knew he couldn’t talk long, but this was important. “Thanks, John. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Johnny really thought he’d misunderstood.

“I’m sorry. I thought—I thought it mattered. But I was wrong. You’re still my friend, aren’t you?”

“Sure, of course I am. You’re my brother, Chet.”

“I’m sorry I outed you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better this way. I don’t have to lie and no one really cares but you.”

“I don’t care anymore,” he said and closed his eyes.

“Good. That’ll make things even easier. Hey, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“No one else did. I deserved that.”

“They’ll come by tomorrow. I don’t think anyone’s supposed to visit in recovery. I just used my special charm on the nurse to get five minutes.”

“Tell the guys I’m sorry,” he whispered. “And Murray. He—seems like a nice guy.”

“Forget it, Chet. You just get some rest, okay?”

He opened his eyes and seemed to examine Johnny’s face, although what he was looking for was a mystery. Then he closed them again and raised his left hand, the back of it covered with tape and IV tubing, just a couple of inches off the bed. It hovered there until Johnny, acting with no confidence whatsoever, slipped his hand beneath it. Chet’s fingers wrapped feebly around his and he fell asleep almost at once.

Johnny stood there and held his hand until the nurse returned and told him to go.

***

Murray was sitting on the deck of the _Riptide_ , watching the sunset with a magazine lying open in his lap. He told himself he wasn’t waiting for Johnny, that his lover would get there when he could, but the truth was, he was worried. Johnny had called when his shift ended to say he would be late; he was okay, but something had come up. Murray didn’t ask what. If he’d learned anything in the last two years, it was that he could trust Johnny completely. But he still sat outside so he would know the minute Johnny arrived.

Murray saw him at the top of the gangway and closed his magazine. He was sitting up expectantly when Johnny boarded the boat, his smile welcoming and adorably hopeful.

“Hey, Brown Eyes. I’m sorry I’m so late. How was your day?” He pulled a chair up close to Murray’s and sat down so their shoulders touched.

“Good. I—I made a lot of progress on the—the new operating system. That keyboard we built is—is a wonder.” One of the first things Murray did when he got back to work months ago was design a padded keyboard that he could hold in his lap, and that helped hold his hands in position for typing. He was much stronger now, able to work a full day, if not yet the two and three day marathons he used to do, but he’d become fascinated by the possibilities of adaptive equipment and still tinkered with ideas to make simple tasks easier.

“It’s pretty sweet. How’s the OS coming? Did you get the bugs out of the speech function?”

“Not all. I think I’m slowing it down, with the aphasia and s-stuttering.”

“You’ll get it. And you’re still getting better, right?”

“Every day. Are we going swimming tomorrow?”

“You bet. Nothing I like better than you half naked and busting your butt.”

“Unless it’s me totally naked while you bust my butt.”

“Exactly. We can do that tonight, though, right?”

“I was c-counting on it. So, why were you so late? What happened at—fire?”

“Funny story,” Johnny said. The sun was down now, the deck of the boat shadowed in full dusk, and he took Murray’s hand before going on. “Chet Kelly took a bad hit in a fire this morning.”

“Chet? Is he all right?”

“He will be. The thing is, we had another patient, and Roy went to the hospital with him while I was pulling Kelly’s fat out of the fire. He tried to fight me—didn’t want a queer touching him, I guess—but he stopped breathing.”

“Oh no,” Murray groaned. Johnny squeezed his hand and smiled.

“That was kind of the best part. He woke up while I was giving him mouth to mouth. For a few seconds it looked like he might actually choose death.”

“T-that’s outrageous,” Murray stammered, moving as if to rise. “W-what’s w-wrong with people? Is it so hard to c-c-com-comprehend that you can still do a good job, e-even if-if…”

“Hey, calm down, baby.” He drew Murray back in his seat, encouraging him to relax. “It’s all right. Cap backed me up and Chet passed out before he could hurt himself.”

“So h-he’s okay?”

“Yeah. He had some internal injuries and they operated this morning.”

“That’s good. S-so why were you late?”

“Right, that was the weird part. I went over to the hospital when I got off shift and hung around until they let me see him. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“After the way he treed you?”

“Well, the last year’s been rough, but we’ve been friends for a long time,” Johnny shrugged, passing over the misplaced word. “Besides, if he didn’t make it, it wouldn’t look too good for me. It’s not like I don’t lose patients now and then—I do—but I couldn’t lose a guy who wanted me fired.”

“So you were at the hospital all d-day?”

“Most of it. It was worth it, though. He woke up and talked to me for a couple minutes. He said he was sorry.”

“Really?”

“Really. Asked me to apologize to you, too. He said you seemed like a nice guy. I was thinking maybe we should have him over when he’s back on his feet. We could do it at my place if the guys don’t want him here, but he’d probably get a kick out of the boat.”

“Huh. H-he really wanted t-to apologize to me?”

“That’s what he said. It could have been the drugs, but he remembered your name. I think he meant it.”

“We’ll have a barbecue when he can come. The guys won’t member.”

“Cool. In fact, let’s send him some flowers while he’s still in the hospital. I bet no one’s ever done that for him before.”

“I—I’ll order them in the morning.”

“Thanks. But nothing too, you know, romantic. Nothing like I’d give you.” He leaned over and kissed Murray softly. “Did you eat already?”

“A while ago. Did you?”

“I stopped on the way over. Are you ready to go to bed?”

Murray nodded. It had been a long day. He pushed himself up out of his chair and walked shakily across the deck. Johnny followed, not offering his arm because Murray didn’t like any implications that he couldn’t make it on his own. He’d been walking unassisted for four months now and resisted even casual hand-holding for fear of looking dependent. But once they were inside, he held Johnny’s elbow on the stairs and let him wait outside the head while he washed up for bed. He was back in his own cabin now, so he let Johnny help him up the aft stairs and down into the bow, but he walked across the salon on his own.

Nick and Cody were in the galley baking brownies for a neighborhood event the next afternoon. They were being quiet, cleaning up after each step, and the brownies stacked up on cooling racks by the dozen.

“Hey, John,” Cody said cheerfully. “Good to see you. We were afraid Murray was going to sit out there all night.”

“I got held up with work stuff,” he shrugged. “What’re you guys doing?”

“The pier folks are having a picnic over at the park tomorrow. We’re in charge of dessert.”

“I’m more interested in your ‘work stuff’,” Nick said, stacking the baking pans in the sink. “Were you putting in an extra shift?”

“No, I just—can I have a brownie?”

Nick told him to go ahead. Johnny sat down at the table and pulled Murray into his lap. They each took a brownie and Johnny told them briefly about his day.

“You passed up an afternoon with Murray to visit Chet Kelly in the hospital?” was Cody’s immediate response. “That short guy with the mustache who sold you out to your captain?”

“That’s him. I needed to make sure he was okay, and not pissed at me for saving his life.”

“You thought he’d be mad about that?” Nick asked. He wasn’t sure if the real logical flaw was with Chet or Johnny, but there was clearly something wrong.

“He was at the time. I talked to him for a few minutes, though, and he seemed to have changed his mind. I was hoping maybe we could all get together and, I don’t know, try to be his friends.”

“What makes you think that little homophobe wants to be friends with us?”

“I can’t entirely vouch for him, Nick, but I know he doesn’t have much of a social life outside the station. His family’s all out of state, and since his bowling league broke up, he mostly hangs around with Marco’s family. His Spanish has gotten a lot better, but they don’t watch American football.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Cody said. “You let us know when he’s out of the hospital and we’ll have a barbecue. It’s too early for football, but we can come up with something. And see if Roy can come, too, so it’s not just him and two gay couples.”

“Good idea. I’m going to see him again tomorrow and make sure it wasn’t just the drugs talking.” He finished his brownie and let Murray lick his fingers. “You ready to go to bed, sweetheart?”

Murray got up and held onto the back of the seat until Johnny could rise and take his arm. His independence was shot for the day and he was ready to be cared for again. For a little while, at least. “Goodnight, guys,” he said, trying not yawn as he hugged them both in turn.

“Goodnight, Boz,” Nick said, and Cody reminded him that he was supposed to make Rice Krispies squares in the morning. Johnny promised to help and they went on to bed.

The lovemaking was sweet and tender, in spite of their earlier jokes. After the coma Murray had become more hesitant, not trusting his body’s reaction to stimulus, and Johnny didn’t work him out as hard as he used to. Murray had always liked a certain level of pretend violence—rough gestures, bruising kisses, bites that left teeth marks and sometimes broke the skin—but he didn’t seem to want that anymore. Now he wanted cuddling and petting, and when he was on top, he came quickly, without the furious punishment he’d always demanded. But he was on top less often now, preferring to lie on his back on the edge of the bed while Johnny knelt on the floor, making it easier to see each other’s faces and judge what was desired. Most of the time Murray kept his glasses on and bit his lips, staring at Johnny with those great liquid eyes, telling him without words to be kind.

Johnny slipped into him slow and easy, breathing in low nasal sighs, keeping his eyes fixed on Murray’s face for any sign of discomfort or fear. Murray bit his lips, as always, but hungry moans vibrated in his throat and gave away his need.

“All right, baby?” he whispered, pausing until Murray gave him a nod. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Murray reached out with his right hand, straightening his elbow and rotating his wrist as if it had never been a problem. His fingers closed around Johnny’s forearm and squeezed gently.

“l-love me. That’s all I want.”

Johnny eased Murray’s legs up around his hips and leaned over him, pushing deeper and stealing a kiss. Murray held onto him and they loved each other as long as they could.

***

The next day was unusually busy, with Krispie treats in the early morning and two hours of swimming before the picnic, but they still found time to visit Chet in the hospital that evening.

“Johnny. You came back,” he said mildly, regarding them through pain-glazed eyes. He was still on oxygen, breathing shallowly through a nasal cannula, and when he spoke, he pressed his right hand to his abdomen where the pain lived.

“I just wanted to see if you were doing any better. How’re they treating you?”

“Okay. Been sleeping a lot. Is that Murray?”

“Y-yes. Hello,” Murray stammered out shyly.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” Chet asked, half-smiling. Murray blushed and ducked his head, making Chet think he’d fucked up again. Before he could apologize, Johnny spoke.

“Murray still has a little speech impairment from the accident last summer. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal, huh?” Chet murmured.

“N-not really,” Murray said with a shrug. He understood now what they were doing and was happy to play along. “How are you?”

“Tired. Sleeping a lot,” he said, unaware that he was repeating himself. “Murray…”

“What’s that?” He sat down beside the bed and leaned closer before remembering that this man might well be afraid of _him_.

“I’m sorry,” Chet whispered, not seeming to notice.

“W-what? No. You didn’t do anything to me.”

“Yes, I did. I used you against John. Scared me that he loved you so much…”

“Hey, no, i-it’s okay. Chet—”

“Let me finish. Thought it made him—weak. I wanted him fired. Tried to get him fired while he thought you were dying.”

“I know. It’s okay, really.”

“You know?”

“I-I’m still a genius,” Murray grinned.

“Figures. I’m sorry you knew. Sorry I was such a dick.”

“I-it’s okay. But maybe you should apologize to Johnny.”

“He just did. Didn’t you, Kelly?”

“I hope so. I’m really tired, guys. Not too sure what I’m saying.”

“That’s all right,” Johnny said with a sweet smile. “We just wanted to make sure they were taking good care of you.”

“Yeah? You and Murray were real worried about that, huh?”

“You always came to see me,” he shrugged. “That’s what we do.”

“Thanks. Murray—see you later?” Chet closed his eyes and pressed the button on the PCA to get another dose of morphine.

“Sure. W-we’ll get together sometime.”

“Cool.” He let out a little sigh and went to sleep without opening his eyes again.

“We _will_ have him over sometime, right?” Murray whispered.

“Sure, baby. Whatever you want.” Johnny helped him up and they left the room together, feeling better and yet somehow worse for having come.


End file.
